


we bleed and fight for you (sometimes it seems that's all we do)

by livhasnolife



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Angst, Character Death, F/M, Hurt No Comfort, I'M EMO, M/M, but i ship lams so the intent on my part is definitely kinda romantic, this can be taken as platonic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-15
Updated: 2017-10-15
Packaged: 2019-01-17 15:19:21
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 954
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12368520
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/livhasnolife/pseuds/livhasnolife
Summary: When John dies, Alex's world stops spinning and for once he can't fix it with words alone.





	we bleed and fight for you (sometimes it seems that's all we do)

When Alexander hears that John Laurens is dead, the world shatters.

It feels like everything falls down around his ears, thousands of papers float down from the heavens in his mind, Eliza and Philip and the home they've all built fade away. Nothing matters. John's gone. He's _gone_.

For a few minutes, everything is gone from his mind. He can't think. For once in his life, his mind is blank. In his ears, he hears a deafening ringing, a high note stable in his brain. 

Then Eliza speaks again- soft, caring in that way Eliza always is, -a quiet, "Alexander, are you alright?" and suddenly everything's back. His brain kicks into gear and there's just _so much._ It feels like a rubber band snapped him back to the present, and it _hurts_. He grabs the edge of his desk to stable himself, holds it tight until his knuckles go white. 

There's silence in the room for a few seconds. Alex can't be bothered to care. It stays quiet up until the moment Eliza comes a bit closer, tries to touch him on the arm in a comforting way, but he can't look at her. He draws his arm back as if burned. "I have so much work to do."

His back turns. Eliza is silent. She places the letter delicately on his desk, pats his shoulder once as an unspoken promise of _I'm here for you._ Then, she leaves.

A little bit of Alex dies with John that night, a little more the next morning. It's like a flame goes out somewhere inside of him. He doesn't have enough words for the first time in his life. The world is a dizzying, confusing mess and he can't sort it out.

He can't _think._

He just keeps seeing John, and hearing John, and he swears he's going insane. His best friend just _died_. He's dead. This isn't Alex's first rodeo with tragedy, but it's different. 

John meant the world to him.

It feels like the world was just turned upside down, laid flat on its axis. It never really turns the right way again.

He doesn't cry. He crushes every mourning emotion that pops up, and he does the only thing he knows how. He writes. He writes and he writes and he writes and it will never be enough but he can't stop. He can never stop.

He represses, and doesn't let his emotions get to him. He's survived this far.

Alex sees curling hair in his dreams that night, a freckle-splashed face. It's blurry. He knows he can pinpoint exactly who it is, but he doesn't want to so he doesn't.

When he wakes up crying, Eliza doesn't comment on it. He's ever grateful for her. She just hugs him, and he cries, and they don't talk about it. Not when it happens, not the day after, not in years.

He spends the whole day writing and rewriting and by the time the sun goes down he's spent the whole day in his study with practically nothing to show for it than a bin of crumpled up papers. He watches the sun go down through the window of the office, watches the shadows get longer until the whole room is enveloped in shadow. Eliza brings him a candle, a cup of tea and a blanket. She gets nothing more than a thank you but she doesn't mind.

He keeps writing late into the night. When he's finally finished, it's less than what he wanted but he's accepted there's nothing more he can do. He watches the sun rise, and looks down at his measly paragraph. A _paragraph._ That's all he could do for someone who lit up his life in every way.

John Laurens was a light all his own. He could enter a room and it'd immediately get brighter. He soothed Hamilton's busy mind with a simple easy smile. A glance. A touch on the shoulder. 

Alexander always felt like he and John were meant to meet, like somehow it was fate. John was this- this saint, a truly beloved friend. Everyone noticed him. He was a truly caring person and now he's met an end to his virtue. Suddenly, Alex's eyes sting again. He could write so much about this man, but it'll never be enough anyway. Words won't bring John back.

When Eliza enters the room about a half an hour later, he hands her the paper. Her eyes scan it for a few moments, before she simply nods. Worry fills her face when she looks at him, and he knows he must be rocking quite a look. Greasy hair he hasn't taken out of a pony tail in days, sunken eyes lined with dark purple circles, and a solemn frown. 

Relief floods him when she just says, "It's okay, Alex." He lets his head drop into his hands, and a few minutes later, the exhaustion takes him. Eliza gently pushes a pillow under his head, but there's nothing more she can do. She can't help but feel helpless.

-

Alex blames himself. During the end, he couldn't seem to get through. John had never had time to write back. He got angry. John died thinking Alex was angry at him.

He should've done more. He should've reached out. He should've been there for someone he loved.

It's over now. Tomorrow's a new day. He can do this. 

Except he can't.

Alex averts his eyes from the ceiling, shuts off his brain as best he can, and instead glances at his wife.

He still has a future. 

He can't wait to see John again.

He closes his eyes, and the navy blue of their room fades.

_Raise a glass to freedom._

**Author's Note:**

> this is short and it kinda sucks but i'm so sad. i'm not as into hamilton as i used to be but it still has such a huge place in my heart and i love it.
> 
> if you wanna hmu my twitter's brighteyesphil bye yall


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